


You and I Are a Gang of Losers

by voodoochild



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-04
Updated: 2010-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn acts like a seven year old, Hunter amuses himself with commentary. Just a little flashback to original flavor DX.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I Are a Gang of Losers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Opera, for the prompt "Shawn/Hunter, commentary".

"C'mon, Hunt, nobody's gonna be in the building for hours."

Shawn had that wheedling tone in his voice that never boded well. The same tone he employed to ride shotgun every time White drove and that usually got him punched in the mouth at bars. That irritating fucking whine that made Scotty knock him out after sixteen rounds of _"Are we there yet? How about now? What about now?"_. Shawn was an overgrown seven-year-old, and Hunter kept telling himself he should be used to it.

"Pleeeeeeeeeeease?"

Yeah. Right.

Resigning himself to more brattiness if he didn't at least go down to the floor to see what Shawn was doing at the announce table, Hunter jogged down the arena steps and hopped the barrier. Shawn was cross-legged in Ross's chair, jamming the headphones on his head and poking at the buttons on the monitors.

Hunter sat down in the other chair. "What're you doing?"

"Haven't you ever wanted to call a match?"

"Um, no."

Shawn huffed at him, blowing strands of blonde hair out of his face and rolling his eyes, the drama princess.

"Come on. It'll be fun. Look, I'll start - and it's Sycho Sid, locking up with Shawn Michaels. HBK showing amazing amounts of brute strength, just pulverizing Sid with furious rights and lefts, backing him into the - _stop laughing_."

His head resting on his forearms, Hunter had to give in to the laughter that had been threatening to break out ever since he saw Shawn, perched like a little kid at the table. Shawn looked slightly ridiculous, pretending to watch the monitors, then the imaginary action in the ring, mimicking Vince's ramrod posture.

"I don't know which is funnier," Hunter choked out between laughs, "Sid selling for anyone or you managing to jump high enough to hit him in the face, instead of the shoulder."

Shawn muttered something obscene - involving Hunt's mother and the words "four fucking inches and you never hear the end of it" - and shoved the other headset at him. "Like to see you do any better."

Humoring Shawn, Hunter adjusted the headset and spoke into the microphone. "And we're back on Monday Night Snooze. I'm Tony Schiavone here with Turner's Toady, none other than Eric 'I Know Kung Fu' Bischoff. And we have an exciting main event for you tonight. In this very ring - no, wait, sorry, we're not allowed to use that phrase, it's patented to Vinny Mac - in that ring in front of me, you'll see Bret 'The Hitman' Hart lock up with Ric Flair. Though everyone with half a brain knows Flair should wipe the floor with Hart, Flair's gonna job tonight, so don't bother watching. Switch over to WWE to see Triple H and Shawn Michaels tear down the house and act like juvenile delinquents."

A low snicker, followed by a voice from behind them in the stands.

"Yeah, that about sums it up, guys."

They turned around, expecting Vince, but getting Shane instead. God, the kid was getting bigger every year - next thing Hunt knew, they'd have him taking bumps instead of refereeing. He was already dressed for the show, referee's shirt immaculately pressed, tucked into his pants, despite having four hours to curtain. Hunt had to give him credit, he took his job seriously. More seriously than he and Shawn did sometimes.

"Hey Shane-O," Shawn said, sliding off the headset and trying not to look guilty.

"Hey. Sorry to interrupt, but the writers are pitching a fit about your promo not being scripted. Dad needs you to come back to the cafeteria and pretend to listen to them."

"What, again?" Hunter asked, setting the headset down and getting to his feet.

"Yeah, it'll just take a few minutes," Shane said, leaning against the announcer's desk. "Oh, and by the way, Shawn, you don't have to worry about Sid's no-selling. You get Shamrock tonight."

Hunter snickers loud enough for Shawn to hear, which earns him a whack on the arm, but it's worth it to see the split-second of panic on Shawn's face. He's gonna get _creamed_.


End file.
